


Gimme an F!

by pechee (sajere1)



Category: Dimension 20, Fantasy High
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-12
Updated: 2019-09-12
Packaged: 2020-10-16 21:43:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20609801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sajere1/pseuds/pechee
Summary: Sometimes you just gotta sit down and write about a couple of loving college students getting their rocks off in cheerleader outfits, and that's just how it is.





	Gimme an F!

“I’m going to have to thank Fig,” is what Fabian blurts out when he pulls his mouth from Riz’s, enamored by the string of saliva that connects them. It’s weird, a little, how Riz’s spit on his mouth is kind of hot. Normally spit is just gross. Having it on his mouth should be double gross. Instead of. Making Fabian’s heart go faster.

Riz’s laugh is breathless and flustered and gorgeous, just like Riz is – hair windswept, Fabian’s high school jacket loose over his shoulders, glasses a little askew. “She’ll be insufferable,” he says, wiggling, shoulders brushing the hands that bracket him against the wall. “And also, she is like, definitely busy. Kristen was super into the cheerleader shtick.”

“Ugh.” Fabian makes a face.

“What do you mean, ugh?”

“Fig and Kristen doing…” Fabian makes a blanching noise. “Ugh.”

“Oh my gods.”

“It’s gross.”

“You’re an adult.”

“Fig’s not the one I want to be thinking about in a cheerleading outfit,” Fabian says, tugging at the collar of Riz’s jacket to reveal a shoulder strap – silver-brown, Darkmouth school colors. Fabian has no idea how Fig got ahold of cheerleading outfits. He is also not going to question it.

Riz squirms under Fabian’s gaze, the way he always does, the way that makes Fabian’s mouth go dry, zeroing in on where Riz arches his neck back, lean and unmarked in a way Fabian would like very much to fix. “Yeah?” Riz says, voice a half-squeak.

“Yeah. You’re pretty fuckin’ gorgeous, dude.” Fabian discovered, pretty early into his sexual experience, that he talks a lot. Hands, physicality, can fill in the space between touch, but words can fill the space between core, from heat to heat, from Fabian’s mouth to Riz’s dick. Fabian’s never had a partner who isn’t just willing to let Fabian talk, but into it – not before Riz, who shudders and leans into the noise, for whom listening is not passive but active. It is delightful how responsive Riz is to Fabian’s voice. “Love to push up that skirt and see what’s underneath.”

Riz shudders, against the wall, as Fabian’s hands skate up under the tight fabric of his top, skimming up his waist, dragging a nail down his chest. “Not even gonna buy me dinner first?” Riz manages, voice half-shaking but still grinning, a challenge for Fabian to shut up.

“I’ll fuck you at a restaurant, too, if that’s what your asking,” Fabian says, and it’s half-joke but Riz’s eyes dilate – visibly, goblin eyes are so different from human eyes, so many obvious tells. “We could order and then I’ll bend you over the fancy bathroom sink, make you watch yourself while I fuck you, ‘til you come all over the mirror. Then push you down on the floor and fuck you again, get you close and then make you walk out and eat, knowing I’m thinking about taking you on the table the whole time. Or in plain sight, under a table cloth, I can jack you off. Try to keep yourself shut up as I suck you off under the table, bunch of fancy assholes walking around, no idea how turned on you are.”

“Fabian,” Riz gasps, and Fabian grins.

“Not that you could hide it,” he says, conversational, and one hand is trailing to Riz’s fly as he murmurs, mischievous and smooth and desperate all at once. “Walking around looking like that. You’re begging to get thrown down in the middle of the street and ruined. Could’ve probably shoved you up against the bleachers and taken you right there in front of the whole football team and you would’ve enjoyed it, letting them see how you looked taking my dick, staining your outfit when you cum.”

The thing about Fabian knowing how to push Riz’s buttons is that Riz very much knows how to push Fabian’s buttons, too. And when Riz pulls sharp nails, abrupt and stinging, down Fabian’s back, and says “Oh, yeah? Think the other team members would’ve fucked me, too?” It doesn’t matter that his eyes are glittering, because that jealous bubble that makes Fabian’s stomach jump climbs into his throat anyway, looking at Riz as he starts to pull away, like a challenge –

Fabian is very well versed in Riz at this point. He knows that Riz would tell him if he really wanted to stop – know the words Riz would use to say, _I don’t actually want you right now._ And he knows when Riz is playing at it, pretending to shove off and find some other nobody to fuck him, not because Riz wants someone else but because Fabian wants – something, something that Riz starting to walk away provides. Something that comes with Fabian picking Riz up and pushing him against the wall, pinning his wrists up above him so he has to writhe, stretch, to keep his position, comes with pushing in and making a gut-deep noise and biting down, so that Riz arches up into his teeth, so that anywhere he goes for days he won’t be able to hide Fabian on him.

“Mine,” Fabian says when he’s worked several bruises into Riz’s neck, leaving kisses as he goes, a little smug, mostly just breathless. “Nobody else’s. Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Riz says, eyes a little glossy, legs shaking where they’ve wrapped around Fabian’s back. “Fabian – I, hng – “

“I got you, babe.” A little moan punches out of Riz at _babe,_ and when Fabian kisses Riz it is something a little softer, sweeter, savoring the taste of Riz against his mouth. He moves, wet and open mouthed, down Riz’s jaw, tugging aside the collar of the jacket – Fabian’s old jacket, that part of himself that wants to bruise and own trills – to hunch over, a little awkward, get his mouth on Riz’s heaving chest, at the border of skin and silver fabric.

Fabian can feel Riz’s hands jerking out underneath Fabian’s hold, and he pinches Riz’s ass as punishment, which gets a yelp. “Dick,” Riz says, breathless, pushing his head back against the wall to laugh. And, shit – in between getting off, Riz really is a sight when he laughs, hair mussed up, back arched, hands above his head, whole body expanding with how hard he’s breathing.

“God you’re cute,” Fabian mutters, and Riz makes a pained noise and shifts, like he’s trying to back away into the wall, but Fabian keeps a hold, pushing forward so they’re hips-to-hips. “Fucking hot. You drive me so crazy, Christ, I want you so bad.”

Riz – even as he tries to turn away, to hide his face, but there’s nothing to hide behind, just Fabian’s gaze and his whole body open and exposed and his own jerking hips – still, in the middle of thrusts, manages a gasped, “That’s gay, dude.”

Fabian snorts against Riz’s throat and he can feel it bob as Riz swallows, grinning, body still shaking as he mindlessly pushes into the friction. “No homo,” he says, pressing a final kiss to the underside of Riz’s chin.

“It’s too late, man. You’re too far gone. You’re on the gay train.” Riz squeaks when Fabian hoists him up, wrapping instinctive arms over his shoulders as Fabian walks him away from the door to drop him on the bed like civilized people. Riz scrambles to arrange himself further up on the pillows as Fabian rests a knee on the mattress, watching the way his jacket falls alluringly off Riz’s shoulder to reveal long stretches of skin.

“Worth it,” Fabian says, pushing up the bed to settle in between Riz’s legs, pressing a kiss – tender, until the end, when he pulls off with a nip – to his knee. “I’d go full homo for you any day, baby.”

Riz’s laugh is full body for this one, and Fabian takes the moment to admire how the smile makes his face glow, the way his hair splays out on the pillow underneath him, the way his glasses look all fogged up and askew. Fabian is struck – just for a moment – beyond the immediate, pressing boner he wants to take care of, and the way that the bruises on Riz’s neck make something in him ache satisfaction, beyond the hope of getting his rocks off – with how much his heart aches at Riz being silly, being happy, being satisfied, being not alone.

“I love you,” Fabian breathes, and it seems insufficient compared to the well of something building in his chest, insignificant compared to the sound of Riz’s laugh. But Riz smiles up, tangles one of his hands in Fabian’s hair, and tugs him down, willing, for another kiss.

“I love you, too,” Riz says when they part, looking at Fabian, and the way Riz looks at him makes Fabian want to say it over and over again, until his voice gives out, until Riz understands how much he means. “Now come on, fuck me already.”

“Bossy,” Fabian grins, pressing one final peck to Riz’s nose before he pulls back, taking Riz’s glasses for him and setting them on the side table while Riz stammers. He settles back on his knees between Riz’s legs, pushing them a bit wider, giving Riz a stupid eyebrow wiggle as he reaches under Riz’s skirt and tugs at his underwear.

“It’ll be easier if I take the upper layers off, first,” Riz says, snorting, when Fabian gets caught up in fiddling between skirt and leg.

“Yeah, no, I want to fuck you while you’re wearing the skirt really badly,” Fabian says, finally extracting the underwear with a triumphant yank. He holds it up, grinning as it dangles from his hand. “Got it.”

“I’m very impressed.” Riz does not look very impressed, but the way he’s trembling against the urge to push his legs together underscores the biting expression a bit.

Fingering Riz is one of Fabian’s greatest joys in life. Riz spends so much of sex trying to be quiet, but it’s like when he gets anything inside of him he can’t help himself anymore – all whines and begs and scratching up the sheets trying to push down on Fabian’s hand. It’s cute, how much he wants it, and also very hot, watching his face go dark turquoise and sweaty, thrashing, hands leaving red welts on Fabian’s arms and back when Fabian pushes up to suck again on his ruined neck. The edge of his dick under his skirt, staining the fabric with precum, the crumpled wrinkles and smell of sweat on a jacket that belonged to Fabian once – yeah, Fabian could get into this.

Fabian doesn’t realize Riz is getting one past him until a hand is down his pants, and his fingers jerk inside of Riz when he feels the tug on his dick. “Fuck,” he breathes, resting his forehead on Riz’s shoulder as

Riz pulls, sloppy, no sight. “Shit, you – Riz.”

“Come on,” Riz says, voice drenched in sweat and want and the taste of Fabian. “I’m ready for it, do it, come on.”

“Just – wait, chill out, we don’t have to – “

“Please,” Riz says, arching so sweet against Fabian’s fingers, pulling so nice along his dick, half-lidded and panting – and, well, Fabian is not known for his self control.

Goblins are small, but Riz is dexterous – can fold and unfold himself in weird positions, pushing the limits of how much he can take. And tonight, the position Riz wants to be in is rolled over on top of a seated Fabian, pushing himself down to take it himself, pulling Fabian’s shirt off – finally – to scratch red lines down his chest as he goes, too much, too full, just right. Fabian clings to his hips, tries to slow him down. Fabian always worries a little bit, at this part, Riz is so fragile, so bone-thin, so breakable, but Riz won’t have it, pushing and rolling his hips and leaning in with sharp teeth, sharper than any human’s or elf’s could be, and biting down hard himself, so that Fabian can’t do anything but throw his head back and moan.

“Mine, too,” Riz mutters against Fabian’s neck. “Not gonna fuck anybody else. Just me.”

“Just you.” Fabian captures Riz’s hands, pulls them in to press kisses to his knuckles, Riz watching, breath caught somewhere in his gut. “Don’t want anybody else. Fuckin’ – Riz, gods, holy shit, fuck.”

Riz whines when Fabian gets a hand on his dick, pushing the skirt out of the way so that he can watch the way Riz looks taking him, jerking smooth and quick, and it doesn’t take long for Riz to bury his face into Fabian’s chest and cum, hard. Fabian gives him a moment, trembling, squeezing Fabian’s dick in a way that has to be oversensitive, before he pulls Riz off of him – careful, slow, mindful of Riz’s little whimpers of pleasure-pain – and rolls them over so that Riz is stretched out underneath him, post-orgasm dazed, cheerleader uniform stained.

“I’m gonna cum on you,” Fabian says, one hand ringing his own dick, just looking at the way Riz looks, all strung out and overheated and marked up and Fabian’s, Fabian’sFabian’sFabian’sFabian’s. “I’m gonna cum all over your fuckin’ outfit so that you can’t put it on without thinking about me fucking you. Is that okay? Can I do that?”

“Yeah,” Riz says, hoarse, and that’s the permission Fabian needs. Fabian cums looking at Riz, pulled apart and puck back together again, every muscle lax, thinking, _fuck, I love him._

Fabian collapses next to Riz on the bed. The room trickles from labored breathing into silence, the sound of the AC and the fan slowly taking over as Fabian catches his breath.

“Dude, I think this thing is ruined,” Riz says after a few minutes, and Fabian laughs.

“I’ll buy you a new one,” he says, rolling over to watch Riz shimmy out of the cheerleader outfit, pulling the jacket back on afterwards to curl around himself for warmth as he climbs back into bed. “I’ll get a few. We can experiment with styles.”

“I actually really liked it,” Riz says, snuggling up against Fabian’s shoulder. Fabian manages the basic post-coital requirement of tucking his dick back into his jeans, and decides that he’ll deal with the rest in the morning. “It’s a little shorter than the ones Adaine got me last year, but it was really comfy.”

“Mmmm.” Fabian noses into Riz’s hair, letting one arm loop over his shoulder. “They’re also hot.”

“Always about sex with you.”

“Excuse me, who has the daddy kink?”

“You. You have a daddy kink.”

“I do not.”

“You do.”

Fabian yawns, and Riz snuggles in closer under his arm. “Can’t believe we aren’t going another round,” Fabian mutters. “We’re getting old.”

“Soon we’ll be grandpas, staying in bed all day,” Riz grins, and it’s not the intention, but for a moment Fabian imagines Riz and himself at old-old age, white hair, still curled up together in a bed like this one, still holding each other in the morning when they wake up.

“I hope so,” Fabian says, and falls asleep smiling.


End file.
